The Ever After
by kenzyhope2010
Summary: Six years after Queen of Shadows, in an AU where everyone important has actually survived (we know this won't be canon, folks), Aelin has finally found some semblance of peace. This is a piece of the happily ever after that belongs to the fairy tale Throne of Glass is based on. It's sweet, funny, and intended to please. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Aedion had ridden straight in from the Staghorn Mountains, stopping only once before reaching Orynth. He'd spent two weeks with the Bane in their new military outpost. His men would guard those mountains from any threat that came their way, or they would have to face The Wolf of the North.

Aedion rode hard through the outer streets. Orynth was nothing short of glorious; at its center lay the stunning theatres and marketplaces and architectural wonders that made it famous. His Queen had rebuilt and restored them all in the past half dozen years. Her people adored her; that she was battle-hardened and scarred only made them love her more. She was one of their own. She had suffered as they had suffered, and now as they rejoiced, she rejoiced. Aedion was fond of the City Center, but he was riding at too fast a clip to tear through people-choked streets. He was late, though not by much—and his Queen would give him hell for it.

The White Palace dwelled over the city, its walls carved from glittering marble veined in Terrasen silver. It glowed in the winter sunlight; spring was only weeks away, and then the sprawling gardens would be choked with colour. As it was the castle—surrounded by fountains and statues, a masterpiece of design and heritage, symbolizing everything this country had worked for—was absolutely breathtaking.

The outer gates were surrounded by people, selling wares, chatting, hoping for a glimpse of the royals. It was even more crowded than usual, what with the guests dwelling inside those walls, and the extra guards lining the roadways. Aedion slowed his pace, keeping his face hidden until he was standing over on of Aelin's men.

"State your name and business," the guard said, in a polite tone. Aedion shrugged off his hood, grinning rakishly. "Aedion Ashryver. I'm here to see my cousin."

"Right away, sir," The man said, bowing briskly. He shouted at one of his comrades, and the gates split open like the entrance to a legend. Whispers trailed Aedion as he spurred on his horse, the massive wrought-iron gates clanging shut behind him. This was the outer courtyard, little more than a road winding around to the East Wing of the palace where the proper courtyard— definitively less pretty than the front lawns—lay.

He pushed the horse as far as it could go; it was on its last legs as he clattered into the real courtyard. He dismounted midstride, breathing in the scent of home and horses, one of the stable boys already leading the mount away. He ran up the steps into the great front hall; he could already catch her scent. The massive oak doors peeled open and there she stood, arms crossed, looking extremely smug.  
"You're late," she said primly, and he broke into a massive grin. "Did you expect anything less?"

"Shut up, you oaf." She walked towards him, the dusky red folds of her dress swirling behind her, and squinted up at him. "You smell like other females."

"I'm sure you mind terribly." He laughed then, a big, warm laugh, and enveloped her in a hug. She hugged him back, her grip fast and sure, and yet—he stopped. Something was off.

He pulled back, sniffing. "You smell weird."

She made an exasperated noise, rolling her—their-identical eyes. Her hair was pinned back, braided with satin ribbons. The guards closed the hall doors behind them, and Aedion blinked. It was blindingly bright out, and while the massive windows on all sides let in plenty of light, his overly sharp eyes had to adjust.

"You do," he insisted, as she took his arm.

"You smell like shit and horses."

"Stop changing the subject."

She sighed. "Here I was, missing you, and then you come back even more annoying. Different how?"

"You smell like Rowan."

She narrowed her eyes. "I _always_ smell like Rowan. Have the mountains stolen your sanity as well as your morality?" She was changing the subject again. He glared, inspecting her—he couldn't place what was different, exactly, but something was off.

"Are you sick?" He asked, a sudden knife of fear spearing his chest.

"No." She frowned, overly casual, though the answer was blindingly honest. "Why? Do I look sick?"

"No," he admitted. She wasn't telling him something. It hurt him that she kept secrets, but she always had her reasons. Still, if he didn't find out in—

"There you are." Rowan was striding towards them. As per usual, Aelin's entire demeanour lit up when he appeared.

"I found a stray ruffian," Aelin chirped, linking Rowan's arm with her own free limb. Rowan's sharp gaze raked over Aedion, a brother checking a brother. "He doesn't look like much."

Aedion scoffed. "You're the one who turns into a bird."

"Shut up, you two, or I'll stage a revolt just to get some peace," Aelin scolded. "Aedion, you really do smell terrible. Go take a bath and then meet us in my rooms."

Aedion was reluctant; he wanted to know what she wasn't telling him, but she also had other guests, some of them very important. He sighed. "Fine. Then you're feeding me."  
"When have I ever failed to feed you?" Aelin demanded, her gaze dancing. It was so good to see her—it warmed him to his very core, even after six years of being by her side. He bowed. "Fair point, my lady."

She grinned, pointing to the grand staircase sweeping up to his rooms. "Go."

He obeyed, trudging wearily upwards. He paused briefly at the top of the stairs, watching the couple below walk out of the hall. Aelin smiled at Rowan like he was her guiding star, and when she glanced down to hitch up her skirts he looked at her like she should be looked at—like she was his entire galaxy, his sun.

Aedion trusted Rowan with Aelin. Trusted him every damn day. He would keep Aedion's Queen safe.

That would have to be enough.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello Erileans! So in this chapter Dorian and his wife are mentioned; for all you Manorian shippers, fair warning that Manon does not appear. This isn't because I don't ship them (they'd be terribly interesting); but largely because several major things have to happen in order for Manon to fit into this possible future and I don't have the talent or information to write any of them. Frankly, I need Empire of Storms—you feel me? Anyway, please enjoy this next chapter!**

Once, Terrasen had been the greatest court in the world. After so many of its members fell to Adarlan's armies, it seemed as though it could never rise again, not as it was before.

Erilea had underestimated Aelin.

By the time she had crossed the threshold into the overgrown remains of the White Palace in those days after the war, her court was already mighty. Containing not only Rowan, Aedion, and Lysandra, it had swelled to include the lords of Suria, Elide Lochan, Ren, the warrior-twins that had supposedly died in the initial slaughter a decade before, and pledges of allegiance from the new king of Adarlan, Eyllwe's mourning rulers, Galan Ashryver, and alliances with Melisande and Fenharrow. Aelin's people flocked to Orynth—Fae, demi-Fae, magic wielders, ordinary humans; workers and soldiers; women, men and children. Her army swelled—Aedion's Bane enlisted immediately, and commenced training any able-bodied volunteers. Repairs on the castle, on the city, on the country began in earnest—money came in from everywhere, even across the sea, some sources more astonishing than others. The large sum that mysteriously arrived from the Red Desert was nearly as shocking as the coin that came out of nowhere in an envelope artistically signed in blood. A certain jewel thief that had long ago competed against Celaena Sardothien deposited several tons of gold and jewels before disappearing as quickly as he'd come. Dorian lent soldiers and builders; he even sent Chaol for months on end, when he could afford to. Dorian had his own mess to clean up—the whole of Erilea did. But the world got to its feet again, shining and glittering in the light of the newborn sun, and Terrasen shone the brightest.

Aelin's court was an eclectic mix of ex-vagrants and nobility. After crowning Rowan Prince Consort and her second-in-command, she made Aedion her head of military. The initial Court scattered to their new lands, and Aelin divided the rest amongst those she knew would do the greatest job. In some cases, this was the returning heir to an estate; in others, she put notorious criminals in charge. Every single on of them proved their worth and their loyalty countless times over. Terrasen bloomed like a rose in late spring.

In the White Palace itself, the mix of people present would either lead to disaster or prosperity. Aelin steered her wild mess of a ship with a captain's hand; once her pretentious lord of economics finally got along with her head of trade (whom, incidentally, happened to be a female ex-pirate) and her Fae financial advisor finally accepted that she had to work with an ordinary ex-baker, everyone accepted that this was a system that would work. Soon the court became a cohesive machine, becoming close-knit, secretive, and increasingly stronger.

Aedion had to admit it made life interesting. Standing here now, in a room full of courtiers, he wasn't even remotely bored. These were his kind of people: battle-hardened, slightly wild, unevenly mixed with enough stereotypical nobility to provide entertainment. Aedion had been here for maybe twenty minutes and he'd already witnessed Lysandra and Lady Summers take turns trying to seduce the truly ancient lord of economics. It was hard to tell who was winning; Aedion wasn't even sure the man knew he was being flirted with.

The full court—maybe twenty nobles and various members of their families—were gathered in the Blue Salon, a room decorated in the colours of it's name and bearing the mark of Aelin's lavish tastes. Stairs wound from the upstairs halls into the room, which in turn fed into the dining room, which Aedion was hoping to find himself as soon as possible. Of course, the reason they were all here was to welcome the guests—Aedion had yet to say hello himself, having been ordered to his room until dinner.

Aelin appeared then, looking like a living flame in a flowing dress made from a shifting amber material that caught and flickered in the light. Her hair was upswept, studded with flame-coloured gems, and at her side was Rowan, the silver to her gold. Maybe only Aedion noticed the careful way Rowan handled Aelin, even as she stepped away to say hello to some of her friends.

Finally, the guest appeared—all of the staff and warriors running around the halls referred to him like that, as "the guest". He was, of course, an extremely important person, but every time Aedion had heard the term he'd resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The man in front of him was, to Aedion's eyes, just a man, even if he was the King of Adarlan. Dorian Havilliard's grin danced around the room like a living thing, lighting up all it touched. At his heels was Chaol Westfall, Dorian's ever-present companion these days; and that was the extent of the party this time around. Nesryn was off on some very secretive Adarlanian mission and Dorian's other half—a woman who, despite her sweet exterior, could wield her tongue like a blade and hold her own among the toughest noblemen—was back in Adarlan. This was partially to leave someone on the throne and partially because Wynnifer Havilliard was due to have a baby sometime in the next three or four months. Wynne, Aedion knew, had and fit into Dorian and Chaol's friendship like a missing puzzle piece. Aedion had only met her a handful of times, and she'd both impressed and amused him. She'd be missed, but this was the yearly Adarlan-Terrasen council, and it would go on with or without Dorian's wife.

Dorian was met both by ceremony and by Aelin's wicked grin; she took his arm and the two of them disappeared, deep in conversation about whatever book they'd last sent each other. Lysandra swooped in, clearly deciding to make Chaol as uncomfortable as possible over the next few minutes, effectively ridding Aedion of a chance to say hello. Aedion found himself next to Rowan, who looked like he was on a battlefield rather than a surrounded by nobility.

"Does Aelin smell weird to you?" He asked bluntly. Rowan nearly jumped a mile; dinner was announced then and the guests began filing into the lavish dining room. Aelin and Rowan were at the head table, accompanied by a jovial Dorian with Chaol and Aedion close at hand. Chaol and Aedion talked war and rebellion, comparing stories. Meanwhile, Aedion watched Rowan and Aelin suspiciously all throughout the first course, trying to put his finger on what had changed. He'd just taken a hearty sip of wine when it hit him like a thunderclap.

Aedion choked on his drink. He was instantly pinned to the wall by twin glares from Rowan and Aelin; if looks could kill, he'd be a miserable pile of ashes. He stared at Aelin, mouth open, and she drove her foot into his.

"Please excuse me," she said in a clarion voice, smiling at the people next to her as she stood. The look she gave him as she left was nothing short of vicious: _**do NOT say anything!**_

"Excuse me," Aedion managed in a strangled voice. "I got wine on my shirt." It was true; but he must've been white as a sheet because Lysandra gave him a strange look. Aedion managed not to stagger out of the dining room; the instant he was in the hall a hand came out fo nowhere and dragged him out of sight and into an alcove.

"You're pregnant?!" Aedion practically yelled. Aelin slammed a hand over his mouth, fire blazing in her turquoise eyes. "Are you insane?" Aedion whisper yelled as she dropped her hand.

Aelin smirked, folding her arms. "My sanity is linked to pregnancy now?"

"So you are pregnant!"

"Don't you dare tell anyone," she threatened. "We're keeping it secret for as long as possible."

"Why?"

"Because nobody needs to get overly territorial, idiot," she said, clearly exasperated.

Aedion was dumbfounded. He raked a hand through his hair.

"Look," Aelin said impatiently, "out of the two of us, which one of us was going to produce a legitimate heir to the throne? Someone had to woman up and carry on the line."

Aedion didn't even bother flushing. "Are you insane?" He demanded again, for no particular reason.

"We've been over that. Honestly, you're almost as bad as Rowan when I told him."

"What did he do?"

"Turned into a bird. That's not the point. Are you all right? You look like a sheet."

"I've had a bit of a shock," Aedion said irritably.

"Did you really think this would never happen?" She asked, genuinely curious, something girlish in her features.

"I didn't think about it at all!" Aedion exclaimed. "Wyrd, Aelin."

She grinned. "Now you know why I smelled different."

"Are you happy?" He blurted, rather out of nowhere. It suddenly felt like the most important question in the realm. Her entire face lit up as she smiled. "Exquisitely happy, Aedion. This is a good thing, all right?" She took his hand and squeezed it. "Everything's going to be fine."

Another worry plagued him. Memories from his five-year-old self, memories that came form a time before Aelin but when her arrival was imminent.

"Your mother," he managed, not meeting her eyes. Her face clouded.

"My mother was only demi-Fae," she said softly. "It's already been easier for me than it was for her."

"Are you sure?"

"Aedion, you'll see for yourself. I doubt you'll be leaving at all now that you know."

"You can bet your ass on it," he said seriously. She smiled again, looking at the floor.

"Are you scared?" He asked, quietly.

"A little," she whispered. He hugged her then, and her returning embrace was just as strong as ever.

"I'll never get you out of my hair now," she grumbled. He laughed. "You'll be thoroughly sick of me in nine months."

"You're getting wine on my dress," she complained, pulling apart. "Go change, you slob."

"Fine," he grumbled, turning to go. He made it three steps before she called, "Aedion?"

"Yes?" he said expectantly, turning around. She grinned wickedly. "More like five months."

She left him gaping in the hallway as she scampered back into the party.

 **Hey! So that was another long overdue chapter; summer is hectic for me but come autumn hopefully updates may get a little more regular. You'll also get more Dorian and Chaol in the next couple of chapters, I promise. Congrats to all who guessed beforehand why Aelin's scent was different. Cheers!**


	3. Chapter 3

It was a long night, even by Aelin's standards. She danced with Rowan and Aedion and Dorian and even Chaol, talking for hours with the Adarlan party. Dorian was brimming with happiness; the last pocket of rebels in Adarlan's southern territories had been dealt with, he was about to become a father, and he was visiting one of his closest friends. Chaol had informed her, after considerable coaxing, that things with Nesryn were "fine" and "no, we are not getting married yet", which he had been telling her for years. He'd let her kiss his cheek as she danced off, though, which meant he was in good spirits. She'd heard all about Aedion's ventures in the North, and while he radiated distraction, he managed to circle the party with convincingly unbothered cheer. And of course Rowan was Rowan.

He didn't dance much, but he knew how happy it made her to swirl under the glittering chandeliers with him. His hands, at her back and entwined with hers, touched her differently now. He was infinitely gentle, and while it irritated her, it made her warm inside, as though the embers within her glowed brighter.

Aelin was particularly pleased with how she looked tonight. It was getting increasingly hard to dress as she liked; this gown had been tailored with the utmost secrecy. These past few days she'd discovered that more and more of her clothes grew tight and uncomfortable; each new realization was thrilling and terrifying. Rowan had caught her sitting on their bed the other day, crying into a puddle of chiffon, and had gently extricated the gown from her hands before calling the seamstress up. The woman, whom Aelin had personally hired, had crafted a masterpiece of amber and gold, the draping of which was both dramatic and strategic. She'd also made the dusky red dress Aelin had worn today; it was gathered carefully at the ribs and covered in embroidery. Thankfully Aelin's guests were all male and didn't notice the difference. She'd yet to detect anyone in her court with suspicions, although her inner circle—which included bloodhound Lysandra—seemed to have noticed _something_.

The evening was still lovely, even with all the careful disposal of the wine glasses she took for show and the angling away of her torso. She'd been dancing with Dorian—one of the livelier waltzes she'd risked—and had wound up brushing directly up against him. Her breath had caught in her throat but Dorian hadn't noticed a thing. She planned to tell the bunch of them before everyone left, but she wanted to do it her way, with style. Doing so would take some artful maneuvering.

By the end of the night she was so rutting tired she nearly fell up the stairs on her way to her rooms. She sat on her bed, removed her exquisitely painful shoes, and collapsed on the pillows with a gusting sigh.

"That," she groaned, "was an ordeal."

Rowan snorted. "That was nothing compared to the battlefields."

"You're not pregnant," she said crabbily, poking his massive shoulder as he laid down next to her. He give her an exasperated look and she grinned, curling up next to him.

"You love me," she reminded him in a croon.

"Remind me to have my mental health checked."

"Very funny." She kissed his cheek. He made a sound very like a purr, then tensed, sitting up.

"What is it?" She asked, instantly alert. The nearest weapon was either the dagger in the mattress or the blades strapped to her legs.

"It's Aedion," Rowan said, and she groaned, flopping back again. Rowan said nothing, stripping off his shirt and heading into the bathing room as a knock sounded at the door. Aelin quickly unbuttoned her gown and reached for a robe to pull over her shift, not wanting to be draped in heavy satin one moment longer. Grudgingly, she padded to the door, pulling pins from her hair.

It was, of course, Aedion standing there, looking thoroughly impatient. "Yes?" She said angelically, setting a hand on one hip and leaning against the door.

"You have some explaining to do."

"Do I?" She smiled infuriatingly. "About what?"

His reply was suspiciously like a growl. She sighed dramatically. "Fine. Sit." She pointed to her couch and he obeyed, fixing her with the intense kind of gaze one could not ignore. She continued pulling pins from her hair, doing her best to avoid him.

"You're awfully crabby," she remarked.

"You owe me an explanation," he said sullenly, pouting like a spoiled toddler. She did, in fact, owe him an explanation; she'd been keeping secrets from him. She'd hated it, every letter she sent without mentioning anything amiss had weighed on her. Telling him would only have brought him running in from the Staghorns, and for what? To witness twelve weeks of nausea, aches, pains, sore breasts and secrecy? Rowan took care of her, not that she needed much taking care of. She did like to be pampered by him. She'd liked it since Mistward, and it was tremendously luxurious to have someone bring her chocolates and sit and even read to her while winter storms blew outside her window. The worst of the nausea had passed; now Aelin wandered the halls in an increasingly exhausted state, feeling fat and sore and irritable. She missed Aedion, had missed Dorian and Chaol, had missed Elide and Lysandra and Evangeline, all residing over their own lands. Now, she was surrounded by those she loved; it did nothing to suppress the nervous excitement that built in her ribcage like birds about to take flight every time a dress didn't fit or nausea overtook her or her ankles hurt a little more. She was fairly certain that, when that first kick came, she would either burst into tears or go insane.

Aelin was adrift. She was torn between bubbly, uncontrollable happiness and sheer terror. She had no clue how one dealt with all this. Surrounded by healers and friends she felt incredibly lonely, and—especially on the mornings she was up early, warring with her stomach—indescribably sad. It was a sadness that ate at her, as it had since she was eight years old. More than anything else, she wanted her mother.

Aelin stood in her luxurious sitting room, in the palace she had built from the ground up, with a lost cousin before her and a warrior who loved her in the next room, and an entire court outside her walls, and fought her tears.

Aedion's expression changed, softening as he took in her distress. She hadn't intended to cry. She'd been crying all too much lately. Aedion stood up and surrounded her, enveloping her in the strength of his arms. She leaned against him, letting those few damn tears slip through, catching her breath and gathering her thoughts.

"Aedion?" She whispered.

"Yes?"

"How well do you remember my mother?"

Aelin had been eight when Evalin was killed. Aedion, five years her senior, possessed memories of the old Terrasen that were infinitely more vivid than hers.

Aedion was silent for a moment, then, in a strange voice, "Aelin, step back for me."

Puzzled, she pulled apart, frowning up at him. "Why?" His eyes were silver in the flickering light of the fire as he shook his head. "Please," was all he said.

Confused, she obeyed, tilting her head and studying him with some anxiety. He cleared his throat. "Sorry," he whispered, in a voice like gravel.

"What's wrong?" She asked, looking down at herself. She understood then. Only that morning she'd caught her breath, turning in the mirror as she realized, not for the first time, _this is really happening_. There was a bump between her hips, hidden by artfully tailored clothes during the day but now, in her thin nightdress, clearly visible. It damn near took her breath away every time she brushed a hand against it, every time she realized where she ended and began had changed. Aedion had not been here as she and her baby had grown; he hadn't had it made real to him. Now it was real. She understood completely. She gave him a wry smile, planting her hands on her hips. "Yes, I'm bigger now, aren't I?"

He laughed, a gravelly sound, and she knew to give him a moment. She went and sat down on the sofa then, and he joined her in a minute, the sofa creaking under his weight.

"Are you determined to break my furniture?" She asked. He made an exasperated noise and she grinned, a real smile.

"I do remember your mother, you know," he said after a while. She'd stretched out like a cat, curled against him, absently running circles over the hard surface of her abdomen with warm fingers. She looked up at him, her heart skipping a beat.

"I wish I remembered more," she whispered.

"I wish there was more to remember."

"Some days," she said, soft as a whisper of wind, "I feel as if I'll never get through it without her. As though I need her now more than ever before."

"She should've been here," Aedion said, a quiet grief in his voice. "They all should've been."

"Would _we_ be here, like this, if they were?"

"Everything would be different if they were here."

Everything would. There would be no Rowan in the next room, or Dorian downstairs; no witches skirting Terrasen's borders on truce agreement with the queen; no Lysandra or Evangeline or Nesryn or Chaol. And yet the jewel-like future that might have been—it would be so gloriously wonderful, so heart-wrenchingly beautiful, that it could've been worth it. There was no option now. It would do no good to dwell on it; she told that to herself every morning as she awoke and every night as she fell asleep. Even so, she let herself dwell upon that lost dream, let her mind wander to a future where her mother was by her side, her father hoisting his grandchild upon his shoulders, the age-old palace—the one Adarlan burnt—glowing in the rosy light.

She made a decision then. She vowed it with such fierce love thatany person who stood against her would feel the full force of the Fire Queen's anger. Aelin vowed, in that small, quiet moment, that her child would never have this pain. They would never wonder what it might've been like if their childhood survived. Aelin had built a beautiful world for her people, and now it would welcome her own child, a fresh generation of jewel-box nurseries and child laughter in halls protected by steadfast Fae guards.

"Aedion?" She asked, her eyes on the fire before her.

"Yes?"

"You'll help me build that world again, won't you?"

He understood as only a child of a lost realm could. "We'll make it even better," he vowed, a solemn promise. Aedion made other vows, deep within him as Aelin fell asleep beside him, her hands curled around Terrasen's future. He vowed to keep Aelin's child safe. This time, when trouble came, he would not leave their side. This time he would not be days away in Orynth. He and Rowan and the whole of Aelin's court would not let history repeat itself. Never again.

Few survived what Aelin had. Her child, Aedion promised, would never even come close to the horrors their mother survived.

Years later, almost two full decades after the night still early in Aelin's pregnancy, Aedion would stand with that child, keeping them safe. He would stand at the gates as they slipped off to their own whirlwind, world-changing adventures; would keep eyes on them as they made their own name nearly as great as their mother's. Aedion would become their ultimate ally, their confidant and their protector, both in secret acts and in public deeds.

It was a promise to build a realm upon.

 **Hope you guys enjoyed my rather sappy addition; 5 DAYS UNTIL EMPIRE OF STORMS! I'd just like to say that whatever happens in EOS, this story will continue on unchanged. Also, bets on baby gender? I'm taking names, guesses, theories, whatever. Have a great end of summer!**


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